The Easy Life
by It's Just a FAYZ
Summary: Life must be pretty easy as a bully; no pressure, no morals, no fears. Set after Gone, before Hunger. M for coarse language. Oneshot


_**Disclaimer: I don't own Gone. Are you happy now? D: **_

_**This is set pretty much directly after Orc and Drake fight. Kind of AU if you squint, I guess.**_

_I'm the kid on the block_

_With my head made of rock_

_And I ain't got nobody_

_I'm the state of the art_

_Got a brain à la carte_

_I make the babies cry_

Stone fingers didn't bother with the beer can's tab, fumbling for a knife Orc cut a circle on the side of the can. He guzzled the liquid in a matter of seconds, thinking mournfully of what spilled to the floor. His entire body, what wasn't stone, ached. Whiplashes and red welts stung on his flesh from that boy's monstrous hand.

_Where is that little prick Howard? There was a lot of beer the could have been saved if he'd opened the damn lid_. Orc shrugged, reaching for another beer. Beer was the one constant in his life, there would always be beer. There it was, basking in the cool glow of the refrigerator, inviting him to forget. So Orc did, guzzling beverage after bitter beverage, inviting the familiar buzz to set in.

_I ain't one of the crowd_

_I ain't one of the guys_

_They just avoid me_

_They run and they hide_

Nobody in the vehicle made a sound. Not Panda, not Caine... not even Diana. Drake glared at them all, using the last reserves of his strength to keep his head up. None of them were stupid–well, except for Panda, maybe–and knew he was weak now... they all knew that a kitten could beat Drake in unarmed combat when he was in this state, whip or no whip.

...later, though. Later was an entirely different story. Drake would be back to normal. And by normal, Drake grinned a shark's grin, he would be a psychopathic, sadistic teenager, but he'd be at full health. The strength that was rapidly deteriorating in his muscles killed the grin as he remembered there was still a lot of damage to let heal; that Orc kid hadn't made it easy. Drake was exhausted, but all he could think about was sweet, sweet plans of revenge.

_Are my colours too bright_

_Are my eyes set too wide_

_I spend my whole life_

_Burning, turning_

Tears ran down Orc's cheeks as he swallowed another massive mouthful of the strong liquid. He missed his mouth more often than not, in a drunken stupor he poured the liquid down his stony body. _Fuck it all!_ He thought, shoulders heaving with sobs as he set his beer can down. _Charles Merriman is a coward! Hit a girl and killed her! _He began laughing out loud, bitterly mocking himself.

"Hit a girl!" he continued laughing out loud. "Jesst like 'is old man! Hittin' girls, hittin' kids, killin'..." he stopped short. His words slurred horribly from the alcohol, the world was spinning like a top.

With a crash, the teenager hit the ground, falling to his knees. Tears streaking down his face.

_I'm a teenage Frankenstein_

_The local freak with the twisted mind_

_I'm a teenage Frankenstein_

_These ain't my hands_

_And these legs ain't mine_

Drake smiled weakly to himself. His whip hand lay immobile in his lap, coiled in a similar fashion as a cobra might lay; ready to strike. He always said he could handle freaks without powers, but this baby was better than a power. Drake had a thing for whips; the psychiatrist said it was a paraphillia. Drake had punched him in the face.

Smiling fondly at the memory, Drake stroked the whip. Whips represented control, dominance, and an exchange of power. Whoever held the whip held the power, and whoever felt the whip never messed with the power.

_That's how history goes, _he thought to himself_, the one with the whip is the controller, not the one that can move shit with their mind. _

Drake was far from jealous, though. Jealousy was something he was very familiar with, but this was just resentment plain and simple. Drake was used to missing out on magical, amazing things that everybody else was well known for. He didn't care, he never had. It hadn't made him sad, or made him cry; but it sure did make him feel like shooting some moving targets. His hand brushed softly over the cool barrel of his gun.

_Got a synthetic face_

_Got some scars and a brace_

_My hands are rough and bloody_

_I walk into the night_

_Women faint at the sight_

Ugly. Orc clawed at the stone parts of his body. It was so ugly, so disfiguring. Not the stone, him. Himself. Orc was ugly, his personality was ugly, his voice was ugly, his life was ugly. Everything about him, nobody wanted to see. Now, he had so much power. Last time he'd measured himself, he was nearly seven feet tall! He slammed a rock fist into the counter top, not allowing himself to be surprised as the granite counter crumbled into pieces.

He was a giant now. He'd, literally, grown overnight. He could take on anybody he wanted, and win without blinking an eye. He had so much strength, but he was so weak. He'd hit a defenceless girl, on behalf of Caine and Drake! Drake! He couldn't even beat that asshole at his own game.

Orc howled in despair, smashing empty beer bottles strewn across the floor. Drake was probably laughing at him right now, calling him stupid, and illiterate. Drake and the kids from school, and the teachers from school, and Caine! All of them were probably laughing together about big, dumb Charles. _First graders read better, dogs can count better! Wasn't that what they all said?_

Orc fell the rest of the way to the ground, passed out.

_I ain't no cutie-pie_

_I can't walk in the day_

_I must walk in the night_

_Stay in the shadows_

This was his power. Not some stupid magical ability, but true, raw power. This power ran through his veins, and coursed through his mind. Because he, Drake Merwin, was superior! The years he'd spent with his eyes and mind open, while everybody else trudged along eyes firmly shut...

They laughed at him, mocked him, said he was unnatural. A psychopath. Unable to feel any emotion but anger. What was wrong with that? While the Sams and Caines of the world were busy panting after girls and crying and moaning about the world's injustices... Drake alone could think clearly.

Girls. He could see their value, he could see their attraction, he could see their appeal. Lust wasn't something he had yet to experience, but love was. Love was something he'd never experienced, never. Psychopaths, he shuddered in rage at the hated term, weren't capable of love. He was just destined to be empty, hearing about mundane other people talking about the miracles of 'love'.

Drake seethed silently, unwilling to accept that he was upset that he'd lost 'love', and secretly jealous of the inferior mundanes of the world, living, laughing and loving.

_I ain't no cutie-pie_

_I can't walk in the day_

_I must walk in the night_

_Stay in the shadows_

"Orc, man! You in here?" Howard called in nervously, entering the front door. So far so good, no angry grunts, no objects thrown at his head. Progressing, Howard followed the trail of empty beer bottles, entering the kitchen. "Oh, damn!" he swore.

The kitchen was a mess. The counter looked like a monster had ripped it to pieces, there were puddles of brown liquid–beer, he decided–lying everywhere, and squished up beer cans were thrown helter-skelter.

But where was Orc? In a panic, Howard saw his protector lying on the ground, out cold. As Howard rushed to his side, he grimaced. Must be nice to have nothing to worry about. Orc never did anything, he just drank himself stupid and used his size to beat people up. Yeah, it would be some nice to be Orc.

_I spend my whole life_

_Burning, turning_

_I'm a teenage Frankenstein_

_The local freak with the twisted mind_

_I'm a teenage Frankenstein_

_These ain't my arms_

_And these legs ain't mine_

Diana watched Drake with contempt. He was angry; but only because he lost the battle with that bully, Orc. Diana's eyes narrowed in disgust; that was all? He wasn't guilty about the dozens of preschoolers that might have died, and the more that were probably injured by the coyotes? Diana regained her composure coolly, flipping her hair back.

She'd almost forgotten, psychopaths didn't feel like that. It would be some easy to be Drake, doing anything you wanted, never feeling bad or guilty. Yep, being Drake would be some simple.


End file.
